The Real Labyrinth
by Rinne
Summary: When Sam is taken by The Goblin King, Dean must enter the Labyrinth to save him. With six hours to find him, nothing is as it seems. No knowledge of Labyrinth required. Set post season 2. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

I've been working on this story for the past two months, and man, I'm happy it's finally finished. This was written for a movie challenge, but can be read with no knowledge of the movie. It will be posted in instalments over the next week.

**Title:** The Real Labyrinth

**Movie Adapted:** Labyrinth

**Genre:** Gen

**Characters/Pairings:** Dean, Sam, characters from Labyrinth

**Warnings:** Some swearing

**Notes/Credits:** There are three major people I'd like to thank. Firstly, starrylizard for reading the entire story in snippets as I wrote it, suggesting ideas, dialogue and being the best enabler a girl could ask for, reading the entire thing through twice and betaing in what would have to be world record time. Secondly, pixieonacid for also betaing in world record time and providing amusing ideas and lots of support throughout the writing. Thirdly, heylittleriver for betaing the first section and pointing out some bits that needed to be clarified. An awesome promo vid for this can be downloaded from a link off my Livejournal page (linked from my profile).

**Disclaimer:** No copyright infringement intended; fair use only. Not created for profit. Some lines are taken directly from the movie and I do not own those.

**Summary:** When Sam is taken by The Goblin King, Dean must enter the Labyrinth to save him. With six hours to find him, nothing is as it seems.

"Man, it's pissing down out there."

Dean shook his head, trying to get the water running out of his hair and into his eyes to change its path. Finding that it made no difference, he put the bag with his dinner down on the table by the door and dumped the other bag in Sam's lap. His vision blurred as a particularly large drop of water made its way into his eye and he hurried into the bathroom and grabbed one of the towels.

"Gah, I'm never going to be dry again."

A grunt from the other room was his answer.

He rubbed his hair vigorously and removed his soggy sweatshirt, dropping it on the floor, before stopping to listen. There was a baby crying rather hysterically and it didn't sound like it was coming from another motel room.

"What're you watching, Sam?" he asked curiously as he exited the bathroom, moving into a position where he could see the TV. When he saw Muppets – goblins, to be exact – and a very young Jennifer Connolly, he realised exactly what it was. "Never mind."

He went to his duffel bag, pulled out a t-shirt and checked its smell. Passable.

_"Goblin king, goblin king, wherever you may be, take this child of mine far away from me."_

"You know," he said as he pulled his soaked t-shirt off, "I used to wish that the goblins would come and take you away."

Sam turned around to look at him, a smile on his face. "You wished the goblins would come and take me away. You. Mister-I'm-the-best-big-brother-in-the-world."

Dean shrugged as he wiped his chest with the soaked towel. "Yeah, when you were being a snot-nosed whiny brat, which was like, all the time."

Sam laughed.

"Of course, then I'd come and rescue you, being the kick-ass big brother I am."

"Of course," Sam agreed as Dean pulled on the cleaner t-shirt.

"It never worked." Dean made himself sound disappointed. "You were always still there, being a snot-nosed whiny little brother."

"How devastating for you."

Dean grabbed his own dinner, flopped down on the bed beside Sam, poked him in the side with a smirk, and parroted the TV, "I wish the goblins would come and take you away. Right now."

There was an enormous crash of thunder and the power went out.

Dean laughed loudly at the timing. "Well, that's never happened before."

A flash of lightning lit the room and Dean's stomach dropped. Sam wasn't sitting beside him.

"Sam," he bellowed, not caring if he sounded like a frightened little girl, "that's not funny." When there was no response, he quickly got off the bed, navigating his way to the bag with weapons in it by memory. "Sam!"

There was a creepy little laugh and he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. He hurriedly searched through the bag, trying to remember what might work on goblins, but it wasn't anything they'd ever had to deal with before. There was another laugh and the sound of pattering feet.

He finally settled on a knife and the shotgun, tucked the knife into his boot, and stood up, looking around the dark room. Something scuttled across the floor, giggling maniacally. "Jesus," he whispered, "this isn't meant to be real."

There was a tap at the window and it burst open, bringing with it a flurry of rain and hail. He put his left arm in front of his eyes, keeping the shotgun aimed at the window with the other. A shadow appeared, resolving into a man who looked scarily like David Bowie, bad 80s hair and all.

"Jareth, the Goblin King, I presume?" Dean said, his mind reeling. This couldn't be real, it couldn't be. Maybe he somehow got knocked out and this was some sort of concussion hallucination. Of course, since when had they ever had that sort of luck? His hand tightened on the gun. "Give my brother back, you son of a bitch," he ground out.

The Goblin King crossed his arms, smirking way more than a man wearing that much make up had a right to. "What's said is said."

"Where the hell is he?"

"You know very well where he is."

"Give him back." Dean moved menacingly forward, keeping the gun trained on Jareth, who also strode forward, his hands on his hips.

"Dean, go back to your life, play at being a hero; forget about your brother." One of the Goblin King's eyebrows rose disdainfully.

Dean shook his head. He felt like he was trying to think through cotton, like he wanted to do exactly what Jareth said. "I can't," he hissed.

Jareth put his hand up. "I brought you a gift." A clear ball appeared in his hand, the meagre light from outside the window shining on it. Dean's eyes were drawn to it of their own volition.

"What is it?" he asked, hesitantly, wanting to reach out and grab the ball.

"It's a crystal." The crystal started moving in a complicated pattern, switching from one hand to the other. Dean's eyes followed the hypnotising movements as his brain marvelled at the skill necessary to move like that. "Nothing more. But if you turn it this way, and look into it, it'll show you your dreams." Dean thought of his mom and their house in Lawrence. "But this is not a gift for an ordinary man who takes care of his little brother. Do you want it?" The crystal stopped and Dean could finally look at the Goblin King again. "Then forget your brother."

"I can't." The answer should have been the most obvious thing in the world, but it hurt to say. "Give me my brother back."

"Dean," Jareth's voice whipped out and the crystal turned into a snake. "Don't defy me." The snake was flung at him, and he raised his arms reflexively, catching the hissing being. It turned into a scarf and he dropped it to the floor, a goblin laughing as it ran out from under it.

"You're no match for me, Dean," Jareth said condescendingly.

"I wouldn't want to bet on that," he retorted, his senses clearer now that the crystal was gone. "Let me guess, my brother is at your castle, right outside that window?"

Jareth acknowledged his response with a nod of his head and a smirk and they were suddenly outside in a red-lit landscape, a maze in front of them.

"Do you still want to look for him?"

"What the hell do you think?" Dean turned to face Jareth, not wanting to let him out of his sight.

"Turn back, Dean, turn back before it's too late."

Dean rolled his eyes at Jareth's tone and the wind blowing the 80s hair around. It always seemed so melodramatic in the movie, and the real deal wasn't any better.

"Yeah, right."

"What a pity. Time is short." Jareth pointed to a clock that had suddenly appeared on a tree next to them, loudly ticking. Dean glanced at the old clock, and then looked back at Jareth, who was now uncomfortably within Dean's personal space, especially considering the weird mojo he seemed to be projecting. "You have six hours in which to solve the Labyrinth before your baby brother becomes one of us for ever." He backed away, towards the tree and shook his head, gradually disappearing. "What a pity."

"Hey!" Dean shouted. "It's supposed to be 13 hours!"

There was no response, no magically reappearing creepy David Bowie look-alike. Dean looked at his watch, noting that it had stopped working. He couldn't even time the six hours. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket: it wasn't working, either. Dean resisted the urge to punch the tree, figuring that hurting his hand wasn't going to help matters any.

He rubbed his head. "This is insane. They're just frigging Muppets; they're not meant to be real. Next thing you'll be telling me that there's a pig in love with a frog running around out here somewhere. Ghosts I can believe, but this…"

Theoretically, this would be easy, but considering the fact that Jareth had already changed the amount of time he had, it probably wouldn't be as easy as it seemed. This world seemed to operate by his rules, and that meant that they could probably change at any time. Plus, it had been years since Dean had last seen _Labyrinth_, so he couldn't remember a lot of what happened. It would be hard to try and avoid things he couldn't remember.

"I'm coming, Sammy," Dean murmured, thinking he should say _something_ and if he couldn't be profound, he might as well be obvious. He trotted down the hill, sliding slightly in the sand.

He jogged in a straight line as the sun rose, bathing the burnt-looking trees and spindly grass scattered around with more blood red light. The land sloped subtly, and the footing was treacherous; more than once he'd skidded to a stop, only barely missing falling flat on his face. The sand under his feet moved once again, and he grabbed hold of the grass nearby, trying to slow himself down.

"Shit!" he yelled, quickly letting go and coming to a stop a few feet further along, ass casting a groove in the sand. Dean cradled his hand, willing the excruciating pain to stop, before opening it up to see just how close he'd come to cutting his fingers off with the razorblade grass. There was no mark. His brow furrowed as he studied his hand that had suddenly stopped hurting. "This place is insane."

He sat for a few seconds more before he got up off the ground and, dusting off his butt, started his headlong plunge forward again.

* * *

It felt like it had taken at least half an hour to get to the wall of the Labyrinth. In the movie, this was where Sarah met a troll who liked torturing fairies, but there was no troll peeing into the pond that was in front of him. He really didn't have the time to waste waiting for a creature that very likely wouldn't turn up.

The door to the Labyrinth, however, was only just off to his side. He ran up to it and, feeling stupid, waited for it to open.

"Of course," he said with disgust when it didn't move. He banged his hand on it hard. "Hey, open up!" Dean gave it another bang for good measure, before backing up and bracing himself. The wood didn't so much as vibrate when he kicked it with all his power. Instead, he ended up sitting on his ass, his leg aching.

He stood up again gingerly and cocked the hammers on the shotgun. He didn't really want to waste his firepower, but it appeared he had no choice, what with having to get into the Labyrinth to stop his six foot four brother from becoming the tallest goblin in history. He fired, expecting a sizeable dent to appear in the door, but instead, two bright pink pom-poms with eyes hit the door with a squeak and fell grumbling to the ground.

Dean looked at the shotgun with disgust. "Guess it's plan B, then." He looked up and up at the looming wall and then walked closer, studying it. It was creviced and pock marked, with branches and lichen growing out of it. There'd be enough hand holds that he'd be able to climb, assuming it didn't suddenly become slick as ice or something.

"Don't give it ideas," he murmured to himself. Everything was already so much more complicated than it was in the movie, he couldn't really expect anything to be the same.

He stuck the shotgun into the belt at his back, swatted at a fairy that had ventured too close – he didn't want to be bitten – and started climbing. After a couple of minutes, he looked down, relieved that the ground was further away. He reached for a handhold next to a plant with eyes that turned to look at him and pulled himself up, scrambling for a hold when the wall crumbled slightly under his grip. "What are you looking at?" he grumbled at the plant, glancing up to find the end almost in sight. A few feet more and he'd be over.

A minute later he was sitting on top of the wall, looking out over the Labyrinth. The wall went on seemingly for miles without meeting another wall. As much as it might be easier to stick to the ridges, so to speak, it wouldn't be possible. Dean swung his legs around, twisted so that he was facing the wall and dropped to the ground below. The Labyrinth's floor had to be raised compared to the outside, because it wasn't a very large drop. Just as they had appeared to do from above, the walls seemed to go on forever in parallel. "Right or left?" he asked the eyes hanging off the wall in front of him. The stalks they were on drifted towards the left, humming as they did so, seemingly pointing him in that direction. Deciding he'd have to be insane to trust them, he said, "Right it is, then."

Dean set off at a fast walk, carefully avoiding the debris and detritus that was strewn along the corridor. There were no openings to the rest of the Labyrinth, no turns, nothing, just miles of endless, monotonous parallel lines. It was enough to put you off geometry for the rest of your life, if you hadn't already been put off the subject by the geometry teacher from hell. Literally.

"Where's a friendly worm when you need one?" he muttered.

"Here I am!"

He stopped and looked around at the high-pitched voice, finally spotting a green worm with bright red hair, wearing a bonnet and sitting on the edge of one of the bricks.

Dean rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "My life is weird."

"You're telling me," the worm said. "I'm the one that has had to sit on this same brick every day for three hundred years, waiting for travellers to come along. Well, except for that one time with that Sarah girl, that was the mister." The worm shook its head from side to side. "I miss all the fun."

"I suppose there's no point in asking you how to get through the Labyrinth, is there?" Dean crouched down beside the worm.

"Nah, I'm just a worm."

Dean laughed sourly. "I figured." He stood up and walked to the wall opposite and put his hand out, relieved to find that he was right. It wasn't a real wall; there was an entrance to the rest of the Labyrinth. "'Bout time something went right. Which direction takes me to the centre of the Labyrinth?"

"Neither."

Dean turned around, facing the worm. "Guess it doesn't matter which way I go, then."

"Left," the worm said decidedly. "You'll do better to go left."

"Thanks." Dean was so not telling Sam that he'd thanked a worm. He had no idea which direction was better, so he could trust that what the worm was saying was true, or he could go the other way. Or he could go by the tried and true method. "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe; catch a hot chick by the toe. If she squeals, don't let her go; eeny, meeny, miny, moe." He ended up pointing to the left, and therefore went to the right.

"People," he heard the worm yell disgustedly after him. "Never listen."

The path zigged and zagged psychotically for several minutes, until he found himself out in something that seemed more like what a labyrinth should be. Seemingly to make up for the straight corridor he'd initially found himself in, the walls almost constantly turned now, twisting on themselves and giving him multiple directions to go. He picked at random, knowing that there wasn't much use in trying to mark his path. The Labyrinth's residents would just screw it all up.

_"Dean!"_

Sam's disembodied and very pissed off voice echoed off the walls. Dean looked around, hoping that it might give him a direction to go in. Shrugging, he ignored most of the hands pointing in different directions out of the pillar beside him and went diagonally forward toward the castle he could see in the distance.

* * *

Sam was going to kill Dean. Of all the moronic things to do, this was pretty high on the list. Of course, there was no way that he could really have known that it would actually work this time, but that was beside the point. Thanks to Dean, he was sitting chained to a wall in a castle filled with goblins, and in, oh, just under four and a half hours he'd be a vastly oversized ugly evil thing.

Sam was bored. There hadn't even been any singing or dancing to relieve his boredom, just goblins fighting and gorging themselves and Jareth preening in a mirror.

He rested his chin on his manacled hands and sighed. Jareth turned at the sound, before lifting his legs off the side of the very over-the-top throne he was sitting in and jumping to the platform. Sam sat up a little straighter as Jareth stalked to him in those ridiculously girly boots. He stopped in front of Sam and Sam looked up, trying to avoid staring at the crotch right in front of his face.

"In four hours and twenty three minutes you'll be mine." There was a smug edge to Jareth's voice that worried Sam more than a little.

"And why exactly did you want me, again? I don't think I'd make a very good goblin."

Loud raucous laughter filled the room as the goblins stopped what they were doing and looked at him. Jareth laughed louder than all of them and crouched until he was on the same level as Sam, giving Sam a fantastic look at the lovely ruffled shirt that was a fashion travesty and the pimp-style gold medallion. Quiet descended on the room when the Goblin King gestured violently.

"I don't want you for _you_." There was a sardonic twist to the man's lips as he leant in closer and whispered in Sam's ear, "I want you for your heritage, Sam. Imagine what I can do with all those pretty powers of yours. Imagine how I can expand my kingdom."

"Not going to happen," Sam ground out.

Jareth looked at him with bemusement. "What, you believe that your _brother_ is going to save you? Do you really think that a mere human can get through the Labyrinth in time?"

"Yes," Sam spat out. "Dean will kick your ass."

"Such confidence." A long delicate finger was drawn along Sam's jaw and he tried not to flinch away. "Well." Jareth clapped his hands together and stood up. "I guess I'll just have to throw a few more things in your brother's path, then, shall I? Can't have it being too easy for him, we wouldn't want him to be so bored that he turns back."

Sam laughed. "You really don't know Dean, if you think he'll turn back. Trust me, he won't." _Not even if I told him to_.

"We'll just have to see, won't we?"

* * *

The timing of all this so sucked. He hadn't had a chance to have dinner, and now his stomach was seriously complaining. There was nothing worse than being hungry. Well, almost nothing worse. It had an unfortunate tendency to make him really grumpy, as Sam termed it, particularly if he wanted pie. Dean _really_ wanted pie. And the burger he'd had to abandon back in the real world. It'd be getting cold, which was just sacrilege. Of course, he wouldn't be so stupid as to actually _eat_ anything in this world, that would be asking for disaster. The residents would just have to put up with his stomach sounding like a volcano waiting to explode.

In this sort of situation, he really appreciated what his dad had done for them. He was able to keep a rough mental map of what directions he'd tried; rough because of the fact that the walls kept on moving. What was a dead end a minute ago often turned out not to be five seconds later.

Of course, this situation was unique. He'd hit a dead end, turned around, and there was a wall blocking his way.

"Oh, for…"

He turned in a circle, and when he'd done the full 360 he was no longer facing a dead end. Instead, there were two beings – or possibly four – with shields in front of their chests. They were standing in front of two recesses in the wall that were probably doors, from what Dean could see. The left being was dressed in red with a red symbol on its shield, and the right being was in blue, with a blue symbol. There was a head both below and above the shields, hence why Dean wasn't sure whether they were four beings or two.

"The only way out of here is to try one of these doors," the bottom red head – Ass 1, Dean decided – offered helpfully.

The bottom blue head – Ass 2 – poked out below the shield. "One of them leads to the castle at the centre of the Labyrinth, and the other leads to…" The blue head above added a dramatic 'bom bom bom _bom_'. "…certain death," it finished as the others made 'oooooh' noises.

"So, the rules?" Dean asked wearily.

There were some 'ahs' and 'ums' from all four heads. "We can't tell you," Ass 1 finally said.

"But they can," Ass 2 added, looking up.

The top heads cautiously popped up.

"You can only ask one of us which is the right door," the top red head – Dumb – said.

The top blue head – Dumber – nodded. "Ah ha. It's in the rules. And I should warn you, one of us always tells the truth and one of us always lies. That's a rule, too." Dumber gestured to Dumb. "He always lies."

"I do not," Dumb said indignantly, ducking down partially behind the shield. "I tell the truth!"

"Oh, what a lie." Dumber looked away from Dumb, off to the side, as Ass 2 laughed madly with its hand over its mouth.

"He's the liar," Dumb said, as the laughter from Ass 1 and 2 continued.

"Shut up!" Dean yelled, causing all four heads to duck back behind the shields and the shields to quiver. He rubbed a hand tiredly over his face as Dumb and Dumber peeked back over the top of their shields, pointy hats and ears poking out comically.

Dumb looked at him with fear as Dean planted himself in front of it. "Yes or no," he said calmly. "Would he-" Dean pointed at Dumber and Dumber hid partially under the shield in reaction, "-tell me that this door-" he indicated the door behind Dumb, "-leads to the castle?"

"Uhhh." Dumb looked down behind the shield. "What do you think?" There was whispering. "Really, I don't know," Ass 1 replied quietly. Dumb popped back up. "Yes," he said uncertainly.

"Then, the other door leads to the castle and this door leads to certain death."

There was a general 'ohh' of awe from the four beings.

"Of course," Dean continued, "that only works if you're not lying about the rules…and seeing as the two of you-" he gestured at both Dumb and Dumber, "-are the ones who supposedly tell the truth or lie, and you're the ones who told me the rules, well, why should I believe either of you?"

"Uhh," Dumber said as it looked at Dumb. "Nobody's ever asked that before."

"Nobody's ever thought of that before," Dumb replied, sounding surprised. "He does have a point."

Dean slowly worked through the logic in his head. It required more thinking than if only one of them was lying. "If you're both lying, then he-" Dean pointed to Dumber, "-would really say no, but as he's lying as well, this door-" he pointed to the door behind Dumb, "-really does lead to the castle."

Dumb and Dumber looked at each other. "I'm completely lost," Dumber said. Dumb nodded in agreement as the Ass twins laughed again.

"And I don't believe a word you're saying." He looked pointedly at Dumb and it crab-walked to the side, giving him access to the ornate door. It swung open with a squeak when he pushed it, and he looked down carefully as he walked through, watching out for a trap door or a hole. He sighed in relief when there wasn't anything to drop him down into the pit of grabby-grabby hands or something worse. The door behind him slammed shut.

Wherever he was now, it was dark, dark enough that he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. He stood quietly for a minute or so, letting his eyes adjust, hoping that there would be some sort of low-level lighting that he could use. Unfortunately, there didn't appear to be any light at all, and his flashlight and lighter were back in the real world.

Dean put his hands out to his sides and immediately hit walls on both sides. The walls were smooth and cool to the touch, like glass or plastic. Putting his hands above his head revealed the same surface only a foot or so above him.

"Great," Dean breathed, feeling the way that the air almost seemed to vibrate with his words. He walked carefully forward, hands touching the walls beside him and put each foot down slowly to make sure that there wasn't some cavernous opening below him. Even though he tried to keep his footfalls light, they seemed to echo thunderously in the darkness, probably alerting anything in a five-mile radius to his location.

Something brushed against the fingers on his right hand and he breathed hard in shock. He really didn't want to think about what that could be. Creepy things in the dark were better not thought about, especially when you had no chance of seeing them to defend yourself.

His left hand suddenly hit air and he walked forward a few more steps, confirming that the tunnel turned. After three more turns – right, left, then right again – he was convinced that this couldn't be part of the Labyrinth. Instead, it was a tunnel designed to send him insane from claustrophobia and sensory deprivation. He'd be fine with a light, but it felt like he'd been stuck in the dark forever and was never going to get out. There was a tiny – okay, maybe not so tiny – part of him that was gibbering in fear, screaming that the walls were going to get narrower and narrower until he couldn't fit through and couldn't go back. He was resolutely stomping on the thoughts and fears, breathing slowly, and running Metallica lyrics through his head. He wasn't going to turn into a little girl just because of a pitch-black tunnel.

Of course, all that deep breathing and calming exercises – and no, he wasn't admitting to ever having read a book on that new-age yoga crap, or having seen a segment on Oprah (though he totally had) – went out the window the minute that he ran into something solid and slightly gooey in the middle of the tunnel. If Sam were there, he'd say that Dean had squealed like a girl and then laugh at him for a week. As he wasn't there, Dean could tell himself that a spike of adrenaline made him draw in a breath really noisily.

Once _The Unforgiven _ had restored him to sanity, Dean crouched down and put out a cautious hand to the body blocking his path. He had no doubt it was a body; there was a faint odour of blood and death surrounding it, and it was big, about the size of a very large sheep. It probably hadn't been dead for more than a few days, and considering the large sections of it that he could feel were missing, there was some sort of large predator haunting these tunnels. Which was just perfect. Sam was going to be turned into a goblin and he was going to be glow-worm food. Where was the justice in that?

Dean wiped the goo and blood off onto his jeans, reminded himself to wash his hands before he ate, and stepped over the carcass of the animal. If there was some large predator in the tunnels, it had probably adapted to the complete lack of light and the only real chance he had of avoiding it was getting the hell out of dodge before it found him. Irrationality aside, there had to be a way out of here, unless he'd been wrong and this _was_ the 'certain death' option. But, he wasn't going to think about that. That sort of attitude would get him killed.

"Crap."

His hands had both hit air. Walking forward a few more steps revealed that it was a T-intersection, which was slightly better than a crossroads, on a number of levels. This way he had a one in two chance of getting out of here, assuming that the tunnels didn't fork again, and there was only one exit - which was a lot of assumptions, and he knew what they said about assumptions.

He turned his head to look in both directions. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to smell. No fresh air to tell him to go that way or smell of decaying flesh that screamed "Don't go this way!" Left seemed as good as right in this instance. Forgoing some sort of choosing rhyme, he turned left and continued on his merry way.

An eternity of darkness later, an explosion went off in front of him. Dean instinctively put his arm across his face, trying to block out the bright white light that had effectively blinded him and protect himself from any debris. The rumbling from the explosion didn't stop, and the light didn't die down, and he was suddenly on the floor, pinned beneath something furry that was rumbling and blinding him. There was pain in his arm – teeth, his mind suddenly connected – and he could hardly breathe with the weight on him. He rolled to the side, swearing at the pain as he dislodged the creature, and pulled the shotgun out of his belt. His vision had returned enough that he could make out shapes around the spots dancing in his watery eyes, so he slammed the shotgun down hard several times on what he thought was the head. The light dimmed slightly and the noise went down in volume, so Dean kept on hitting.

Something slammed into his leg and he was knocked to the floor again, his head hitting it hard and his teeth clicking together painfully. The creature loomed above him, pinning him in its spotlight. His head swimming, he swung out with the shotgun, hoping to hit it in the legs like it had done to him. There was a sound like an earthquake and the light went out. Dean struggled onto his side and to his knees, sitting still until his head stopped wanting to completely fall off. He then walked forward on his knees the few feet to where the creature's head probably would be and laid into it again with the shotgun. It could just be unconscious, or playing dead, and he couldn't risk it still being alive and coming after him, particularly when his head felt like he'd left it back on the floor.

He tried to slow his harsh breathing down and then held his breath for ten seconds, relieved when he didn't hear any breathing or rumbling from the creature. Still trying to catch his breath, he crawled away from it to rest against a wall and absentmindedly wiped the shotgun on his leg. These jeans wouldn't be surviving this adventure. A careful exploration of his arm revealed that he was bleeding, not incredibly heavily, but enough to be a worry considering the last time he ate and how much longer this might all go on. He suddenly remembered the knife he had grabbed before he'd left the motel room and checked his ankle. It was still there but he would have to wait until he had some light to cut some strips off his t-shirt and wrap his arm. He couldn't believe that he'd become so turned around by everything that he'd completely forgotten he had it. Their dad would have kicked his ass.

After a couple of minutes he staggered tiredly to his feet, using the wall to prop himself up when dizziness encroached. He couldn't afford to waste anymore time just lying around. He turned to his left and discovered a slight problem: he wasn't sure whether that was the direction he had been going before running into the glow-worm from hell. It _probably_ was, but he couldn't be certain.

"This day is really starting to suck," he grumbled as he lurched off down the corridor again.

Three turns later the day was _really_ sucking. There was a wall to his left, a wall to his right, and one in front of him. He'd hit a dead end.

"Damnit," he swore as he hit the wall in front of him. There was a mechanical groan and he stepped back. "That's more like it."

The wall rose from the ground, bringing with it blinding light. There was a clunk when it reached the ceiling and stopped moving and he stepped forward through the entrance, his hand shielding his watering eyes. There was fresh air, warmth and something other than a smooth surface beneath his feet. Once his eyes adjusted, he'd be in heaven. He took another step forward and the world fell out from underneath him.

"Holy crap!"

He thrust his hands out, trying to slow the rate he was falling as the light receded above him. There were things grabbing at him, feeling him everywhere, bringing him to a stop.

"Great, the pit of grabby-grabby hands. Because I so need to be felt up today." There were hands everywhere, scaly green and blue, holding him solidly in place, hurting his sore arm. "Hey, would you mind?" he said indignantly to the green hand on his butt.

He was abruptly let go and fell a few further feet. "Okay, okay!" he shouted. "Put your hands wherever the hell you want."

The hands grabbed him again, thankfully in less touchy-feely places.

"Well, are you going to help me, or just grope me?"

Five hands formed into a face: two curving to form the eyes, a fist as the nose and the other two creating the mouth. "We _are_ helping," a disembodied deep voice said as the 'mouth' flapped in time with the speech. That face dissolved, and another formed next to it. Two hands formed each eye socket, two palms outlined the nose and another two formed a thin mouth.

"We're helping hands," it said with a deeper voice than the first face, before becoming hands again.

"Really helpful," Dean mocked.

Four hands formed a face right in front of him. "Up or down?"

"Ah," Dean stalled, trying to figure out which way would be better.

Faces rapidly formed one after another along the tunnel.

"We haven't got all day!"

"Well, it's a big decision for him."

"Which way do you want to go, hmm?"

"Yes, which way?"

Dean looked above him to what little light he could see. "Up," he said firmly.

"He chose up!" Two hands associated with the four that had spoken pointed up in time with the words.

The hands let go and he started to fall down. "I said up!" he yelled. "Up!"

"We're helping hands," a face mocked.

"Just not helping you," another said, laughing.

He kept his hands out, trying to grab on to something to stop himself from falling, but his grip slipped every single time. Then there were no more hands and he was landing on cold dusty ground, a manhole closing overhead.

"Shit."

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

"He's in the Oubliette," Jareth announced, as he stared at the crystal ball balanced on his finger that showed Dean's tired face. 

The goblins around him laughed as Sam tried not to freak out. Jareth had been watching Dean for a while, only stopping to change from one hideous shirt into another black low cut one. Weirdly, even in the dark of the seemingly endless tunnels, they had still been able to see what was going on. Sam had almost shouted a warning to Dean when they had seen the creature preparing to ambush him, and he'd felt like loudly proclaiming to all in hearing, "That's my brother," when Dean had managed to get out of the situation relatively unscathed.

"Shut up!" Jareth yelled. There was quiet, the goblins looking at him expectantly. "He should have given up by now." Jareth raised his eyes to look accusingly at Sam.

"What did you expect?" Sam said, raising an eyebrow. "Dean won't give up, _ever_."

"Won't he?" Jareth asked, quietly. "The dwarf will lead him back to the beginning. He'll soon give up when he realises he has to start all over again." His voice rose on the last words and he finished off with a laugh. "Well, laugh," he said disgustedly. The goblins obeyed his orders and he threw the crystal ball into the air, laughing the loudest of them all.

"Come on, Dean," Sam muttered, glancing at the clock. Three hours and seventeen minutes. He really didn't want this to be his eternity.

* * *

Dean rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Today is just not my day."

There was a bitter chuckle in the blackness. "Not mine, either." He heard footsteps and a match flared to brightness, lighting a candle. The voice belonged to a dwarf with a lined face, dressed in a hodge-podge of clothing.

"Hoggle?" Dean said with some surprise.

"I see my reputation has preceded me," Hoggle replied bitterly as he limped over and sat down on a large rock.

Dean looked around the cavern they were in. There was something that glittered in the rock that made up the walls and there were chains and cobwebs hanging down from the roof. The only exit or entrance appeared to be the way he'd made his entrance. He sat down on a nearby rock that was high enough to be semi-comfortable and pulled the knife out of his boot.

"Now, hang on, hang on," Hoggle said, putting his abnormally large hands out in front of his abnormally large face. "I didn't do nothing to you."

"Did I say you did?" Dean dragged his knife across the bottom of his t-shirt and cut a long strip off. He turned to look at his arm, grimacing at the rows of deep scores that tapered off into gashes. "You wouldn't happen to have any alcohol or boiled water, would you?" Hoggle just stared at him. "Of course not." There wasn't much he could do other than bind the wound to stop the sluggish bleeding and protect it from getting further gunk in it. He'd be very lucky if he came out of this experience without sepsis. "Hey, you want to give me a hand?" Dean gestured at his arm, and after a minute of staring at him with distrust, Hoggle got up and slowly shuffled over to him.

He stopped a foot away from Dean and gestured to the knife. "I'm not coming any closer," he said petulantly. "Not until that's gone."

Dean pointedly put the knife back inside his boot and his hands up in the air, demonstrating that he was unarmed, before resting his arms on his knees. He would kill for some painkillers right now.

"Hmph." Hoggle trotted forward the few steps needed and took the strip of material off him, before poking at the wound. "Hmph," he said again.

"Hey!" Dean jerked his arm away defensively. "That hurts!"

"Serves you right," Hoggle replied with derision. "Stupid human trying to take on The Blinding Eye."

"Yeah, well, this stupid human kicked The Blinding Eye's ass."

Hoggle wound the strip of cloth around Dean's arm and tied it awkwardly, his large hands getting in the way. "Oh, Mister big bad human, killing The Blinding Eye." He made a disgusted noise. "You don't impress me." Hoggle gave a final wince-inducing tug on the makeshift bandage before trudging back to his seat.

"Thanks," Dean said sourly. "So, how do we get out of here?"

"I suppose you've noticed there ain't no doors, only the hole." Hoggle gestured around. "This is an Oubliette. Labyrinth's full of them. They're places you put people to forget about them. Like me, thanks to that Sarah girl."

Dean shook his head in puzzlement, finally fully focussed on what Hoggle was saying. "Wait a minute, Sarah was real?"

"Of course she was real! I'm down here, ain't I? Wouldn't be down here if it wasn't for her." Hoggle hopped down off the rock. "Now, what you've got to do is get out of here." He walked over to the candle, his back to Dean. "And it so happens that I know a shortcut out of the whole Labyrinth from here."

Dean huffed in annoyance. "You really think that I'm just going to give up and leave? What, is his lord tight-pants is going to finally let you out of here if you lead me back to the beginning?"

"Well, yes."

Dean pulled the knife out of his boot and casually flipped it around in his hand. A pair of eyes followed him nervously as he stood up. "How about you help me through the Labyrinth and I don't kill you."

Hoggle backed up a few steps as Dean stalked forward, before standing his ground, large hands on small hips. "How about you give me that ring, then I'll…" He coughed nervously as Dean brandished the knife threateningly. "I guess I'll take you as far as I can. Then you're on your own."

Hoggle shuffled over to one corner of the cavern and moved aside some pots and pans to reveal a wooden door on the ground. He attached it to the wall and opened it to the right, to reveal a passageway.

"Come on, then."

Dean followed Hoggle out into a roughly carved passageway. There were several tunnels branching at the point where they had entered it. All were well-lit, which was a relief. No Blinding Eyes here.

"This way," Hoggle said, walking forward and ignoring all the other passageways.

"DON'T GO ON!"

Dean jumped and looked around at the deep voice, finally seeing the carved rock 'face' that moved with the words. He followed Hoggle, who ignored the faces around him.

"GO BACK WHILE YOU STILL CAN."

"THIS IS NOT THE WAY!"

The staring eyes were starting to freak him out a little. They followed him with their stony gaze – both literally and figuratively – as he walked past.

"TAKE HEED, AND GO NO FURTHER."

"BEWARE!"

They turned a corner into a corridor that looked more man-made than the one they had been in. The walls had been built rather than just roughly carved out of the surrounding rock.

"SOON IT WILL BE TOO LATE."

That last one sounded scarily like Dr Claw on Inspector Gadget.

"Ahh," Hoggle dismissed with a wave. "Don't pay any attention to them. Them's just false alarms; you get a lot of them in the Labyrinth. Especially when you're on the right track."

"OH, NO YOU'RE NOT," the face next to them said as dirt fell out of its mouth.

"Shut up," both Hoggle and Dean replied at the same time.

"SORRY, JUST DOING MY JOB."

"Well, you don't have to do it to us," Hoggle replied testily.

"BEWARE, FOR THE-"

"For pete's sake, just shut up!" Dean shouted.

"OH, PLEASE, I HAVEN'T GOTTEN TO SAY IT IN SO LONG," the stern face pleaded in an English accent.

"No," Dean replied firmly, stepping past it.

"I HOPE YOU DIE."

"Yeah, you too, brick-breath."

They turned another corner and what looked a lot like the clear crystal that Jareth had shown him rolled along the floor.

"Oh, crap," Dean muttered.

"We have to go this way! There's no other way out," Hoggle exclaimed, as they both rather stupidly followed the ball. It rolled to a stop in front of a grinning Jareth. Somehow Dean wasn't surprised to see that he had changed to another tight 'my eyes, they burn!' ensemble.

"Your majesty, such a nice surprise," Hoggle exaggerated. "And before you ask, I'm not helping him; I'm taking him back to the beginning."

Dean glared at Hoggle, unsure whether Hoggle was telling Jareth the truth or not.

"Heggle."

"Hoggle," Hoggle quickly corrected.

"If I thought for one second," Jareth slowly said, holding a finger up, "that you were betraying me, I'd be forced to suspend you head first into the Bog of Eternal Stench." He walked forward, forcing Hoggle to back up.

"Was that meant to be intimidating?" Dean asked, leaning nonchalantly back against the wall. "Because that wouldn't scare a ten year old girl at a slumber party."

"Well, then, Dean." Jareth turned towards him, a smug smile on his face and mojo at full strength. Dean raised an eyebrow in reaction. "How are you enjoying my Labyrinth?"

"It's a piece of cake," Dean dismissed, his voice loaded with arrogance. He'd never dealt well with smugly-smiling psychopathic megalomaniacs.

Hoggle groaned and covered his face with his hand. "Humans, they never learn."

"Really? Then how about we up the stakes, mmm?" Jareth turned and pointed to a gold clock that had just appeared. The minute and hour hand turned until he had two hours and three minutes left.

Dean kept his mouth shut, not wanting Jareth to take any more time off for his smart remarks. His dad had always said that running off at the mouth would get him into trouble one day. Of course, he was probably talking about the local cops who were trying to figure out who had blown up Pa Kettle's barn rather than goblin royalty with a package that would make a porn star proud.

"So, the Labyrinth's a piece of cake?" Jareth said disdainfully, turning and walking to the entrance of one of the tunnels. Dean itched to pull his knife out and throw it at Jareth's back, but who knew what would happen to Sam if he killed Jareth now.

Turning to face Dean, Jareth continued, "Well, let's see how you deal with this little slice." He brought his hands up in front of his chest, crossed at the wrists, to reveal another crystal ball cradled in his hold. With a conceited smirk, he whirled around and threw the crystal down the tunnel, before vanishing.

There was a dull roar in the distance that sounded scarily familiar to Dean, and then he could see water rushing down the tunnel, waves falling over the top of each other and foam kicking up.

"Run!" he shouted to Hoggle, before taking his own advice. He could hear Hoggle's gravelly, whinging voice behind him above the roar of the water. Glancing back to check how close the water was ended up being a bad idea. He couldn't run any faster and the water was almost on top of him – it was never fun to know just how close you were to dying. It was already swirling around Hoggle's middle, making it hard for the dwarf to run. Dean looked to both sides, hoping to see some way they could exit the main tunnel. Finally spotting what looked like a large sealed up door, Dean stopped and kicked as hard as he could. It moved slightly, dust billowing into the air as the water started to swirl around his ankles. He looked back down the corridor to see that the water was almost upon him. Hoggle was being pulled along by the flow, his head only just above water.

Dean kicked out twice, as hard as he could, and the door groaned before falling forward and shattering in the chamber behind it. The water hit Dean hard in the legs and he snagged Hoggle's floating form before diving into the side room. There was a ladder in the middle of the room and he aimed for it as the water increased, pulling Hoggle below the surface and forcing Dean to half swim. Dean's head went under the water with a particularly strong wave, and he kicked with his legs, unwilling to let go of Hoggle, who was pulling him down. When he surfaced, he was next to the ladder. He wrapped his arm and leg around the rungs and hauled Hoggle's dead weight, hoping that he hadn't been under the water for too long. The dwarf spluttered and coughed, to Dean's relief.

"Grab on!" Dean yelled.

The water was still rising and they needed to climb as high as they could to stay out of danger. Hoggle finally let go of Dean and grabbed hold of the ladder, allowing Dean to untangle his body and start climbing. His clothes and boots were soaked, his arm was burning from all the activity, and the water was pulling at him, making it hard to drag his weight up. He tiredly moved up the rungs as the water rose, periodically checking to make sure that Hoggle was following him. They'd climbed above the roof of the chamber into what must be an access tunnel, the water still following them. Dean reached up to grasp the next rung and it snapped in his hand, the wood hitting Hoggle on the head and splashing into the water. Dean wobbled for a few moments on the ladder, his injured arm taking all his weight, before regaining his balance.

"This should lead to the surface," Hoggle shouted up to him. "If we don't drown first. You sure got his attention!"

Dean looked up and, sure enough, the tunnel ended and there was some sort of covering over it.

"Hurry!" Hoggle called from just below his legs as he pushed on the metal blocking his way. It didn't budge.

"It's not moving!" He looked down – the water was lapping at Hoggle's ankles – before wrapping his legs around the side of the ladder in a repeat of his move at the bottom of it. The extra space on the ladder allowed Hoggle to climb further up until he was beside Dean's legs. Dean let go of the ladder, and pushed with both arms, his muscles straining. He felt the cover move slightly as the water lapped at his ankles. Bracing himself further, he pushed as hard as he could and the cover finally moved. He lifted it off to the side and climbed as quickly as he could out of what turned out to be an empty flowerpot. Hoggle jumped down beside him and Dean hurriedly replaced the cover, making sure to jam it down tight. A thin trickle of water leaked out the side and then there was nothing.

Dean looked briefly around, before collapsing next to a hedge. Hoggle sat down beside him. There were hedges all around, acting as the walls, a giant sundial, other empty flowerpots and statues made out of what looked like sandstone.

"I quit," Hoggle tiredly said. "You're on your own."

Dean glared at him, but wasn't too surprised by the statement. "I just saved your life."

"You put me in that danger in the first place," Hoggle replied, pointing a finger at him. "You've got to understand my position. I'm a coward, and you scared me. But Jareth scares me more."

"Well, Jareth soon won't be a problem," Dean said, wincing as he looked at the blood streaked and water soaked bandage and the blood smeared elsewhere on his arm.

"You wouldn't be so brave if you'd ever smelt the bog of eternal stench. If you put a foot in it you'll smell bad for the rest of your life. It'll never wash off. Until Jareth is gone, I'm not helping you anymore." Hoggle crossed his arms and turned away slightly from Dean.

"Before you stop helping me, would you help me change the bandage on this?" Dean said, exasperated. "I don't see how Jareth could object to that."

"I suppose not," Hoggle replied cautiously.

Dean carefully stripped out of the sopping wet t-shirt and wrung as much of the water out as he could, before cutting another length off the bottom of it. Putting the t-shirt back on turned out to be a bit of a trial, as it kept on sticking to his body, but he eventually got it settled back into place. He shivered as the material cooled his skin and handed Hoggle the piece of cloth.

Unlike the first time that Hoggle bandaged his arm, this time the dwarf was careful. He mopped up the blood along the rest of Dean's arm with the original soaked bandage and then carefully tied the new one in place.

"There," he finally said. "That's all I'm doing, human."

"Dean," Dean said. "My name is Dean." He held out his hand. "And thank you, Hoggle." He was almost surprised to find that his tone was sincere.

Hoggle stepped back from his hand, raising his own in front of himself in reaction. "Now, don't go and try any of that 'friends' stuff with me. I'm not falling for it again. You're on your own."

With that, the dwarf hurried over to the edge of one of the hedges and disappeared from sight.

Dean closed his eyes for a few seconds and sighed. He was sore, soaked to the skin and hungry. His stomach had decided that his throat had been cut and gone into lockdown. Sitting still for a few minutes or hours sounded like heaven, but he had less than two hours to find his brother.

He wearily climbed to his feet, using the hedge as a support. Cool air hit his stomach and he reflexively pulled his t-shirt down, only to discover that it wouldn't pull down. He'd cut enough of it off that he had a bare midriff, which would probably seem like an invitation to the quite likely swinging-both-ways Goblin King.

"So not my day," he muttered.

The castle was visible off in the distance, closer than it had been before. However, it still wasn't obvious as to which way would be the best way to go.

A low groaning noise came from off to his left and a little old man with a very interesting hat shuffled into view. His robes dangled on the ground as he walked, coming close to tripping him up, and he settled on a sandstone throne with a moan.

"Hey," Dean said, standing in front of the throne and unable to resist the temptation, "did you know that you have a human on your ass?"

The old man's big eyes focussed on Dean, and his hat – some sort of bird's head on a very long neck – focussed its beady eyes on him as well. The twin gazes were unnerving.

"Oh, a young man." The man's large drooping moustache moved considerably as he spoke and the bird-hat made a rude noise. "What can I do for you?"

"I can't believe I'm going to ask this," Dean muttered to himself. "It's not like he's actually going to _help_."

"Speak up, young man!"

Dean took a deep breath. "What the hell," he said. "Can you help me get to the castle at the centre of the Labyrinth?" he asked loudly, trying to ignore the fact that the hat was giving him the evil eye.

"Ah," the old man pontificated and the hat repeated. "Eh?" The old man looked puzzled for a second and the hat looked down at him. "Oh, yes. Huh. You want to get to the castle?"

The hat rolled its eyes. "How's that for brain power, huh?"

The old man looked up and glared. "Be quiet!"

"Oh, nuts," the hat replied, looking off to the side in disgust.

Dean smirked. You had to love a talking, smart-ass hat.

"So, young man, the way forward is sometimes the way back," the old geezer said rather pompously, like he was announcing the answer to the oldest question in the universe.

"Will you listen to this crap!" the hat sneered, rolling its head to the side in a disgusted gesture.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Dean quietly agreed.

"Will you please be quiet!" the old man thundered, his face turning an interesting purple shade.

"Okay, okay, all right!" the hat placated. Dean imagined that if the hat had hands, or wings, they would be out in front of it, palms up.

"Okay?"

"Okay," the hat spat out.

"All right."

"All right. Sorry," the hat replied quietly.

"Finished?" the old man asked, long suffering patience obvious on his face.

"Yes," the hat finally said. It was obvious from its tone that it was humouring its human host.

The old man grunted and focussed his gaze back on Dean. "Quite often, young man," he started, "it seems like we're not getting anywhere, when in fact-"

"We are," the hat jumped in.

The old man grunted and looked up in annoyance before repeating, "We are."

Dean half-laughed in amazement. "What a bunch of crap," he stated as the old man abruptly fell asleep and started snoring.

"Huh! You're telling me," the hat said. "You try being his hat. Please leave a contribution in the little box."

A rectangular box in the old man's hand moved forward and shook in front of Dean.

"Yeah, right," he replied, stepping back. "Thanks for nothing!"

He turned around and ignored whatever more the hat was saying. Still having no idea what direction to go in, he chose straight ahead and moved forward.

* * *

Sam looked across at the sleeping goblins as he carefully let the chain that had tied him to the wall pool on the floor. Ever since Dean had been caught – twice – without a paperclip, they'd both taken to carrying them in their pockets. Luckily, even this bizarre world used locks. It had taken him a while to pick it, with the awkward position his hands had been in, but he'd done it. Thankfully he hadn't woken any of the goblins in the process. He stood up, wincing at the cracks his knees made, and inched slowly along the dirty wall. One of the goblins moaned and he froze. The others around it stirred slightly, before settling back down. He started moving again, each step bringing him closer to the door, out of the room and freedom. When he passed a lump of wood that the goblins had been using for goblin tennis – literally – he picked it up. A weapon of any sort would be useful.

Jareth had disappeared twenty minutes before and, when the clock in front of Sam had suddenly advanced in time until there was just over two hours left, he had decided that it was time to get himself out of the situation. He wasn't going to be the 'damsel in distress' waiting for the knight in shining armour. For a start, he wasn't a girl in any way, shape or form – no matter what Dean said – and Dean didn't have any armour, shining or otherwise. And there was the little matter that Dean pissed off people without even trying – and he'd definitely be trying with Jareth – which was almost certainly the reason for why the time had suddenly jumped ahead. Sam wasn't going to risk his safety on the hope that Dean would get to him in time and without pushing Jareth past his limits in the process.

Finally reaching the door, he poked his head out into the corridor and looked both ways. The corridor turned at both ends, but there were no goblins in the short length that he could see. He glanced behind himself one last time and turned back to find a pair of blue eyes inches away from his own face. Sam instinctively brought the piece of wood up to strike the man, but it was ripped from his fingers and flung down the corridor.

"What do we have here, hmm?" Jareth said, his eyebrows quirking, as he backed Sam up against the wall. "Trying to escape?" Jareth's head shook. "There's no escape, Sam."

He felt tongue-tied and slow. It had to be something that Jareth was doing, some weird chemical he projected, because he wouldn't have let an unarmed man back him into a corner any other way.

"Seeing as you're no longer tied up, we might as well get you ready for your new role." Jareth fingered Sam's shirt. "This won't do at all."

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

Dean never wanted to see another hedge again. No bushes, shrubs, or groundcover either. Trees were okay, particularly if their leaves weren't green or if they were leafless. Winter, well, winter would be good. No leaves, no sunlight to burn him to a crisp. He was going to be so incredibly sunburnt after this, and then his freckles would multiply to the point where there would be too many to name. Every time there was a freckle explosion, Sam would feel the need to name them. Fourteen was an impressionable age to be watching _Beaches_, particularly when your sole purpose in life is to piss off your big brother as much as possible. Dean thought that Sam had left the habit behind when he'd gone to Stanford, but at the first freckle infestation since they'd been on the road, he'd adopted it again – and then had his ass handed to him. Dean hadn't forgiven Sam for the fact that he, like their dad had, tanned to a nice brown. Depending on Dean's mood, sometimes it was a worse offence than the fact that Sam was taller than him. Genetics was a bitch. 

Dean turned the corner into an area that was, blessedly, free of green. The walls surrounding him were stone and it was a dead end, other than for the fact that there were two wooden doors on two of the adjacent walls. Each door had an ugly-ass, goblin-like, metal face as a knocker that would probably be worth a fortune. The left had the ring that was rapped against the door going through its ears and the right had it hanging from its mouth. With all the years and dodgy décor that Dean had seen, he'd never come across anything quite so horrible. Well, other than that motel in Arkansas. He shuddered at the memory. He'd never quite gotten over that.

"It's very rude to stare!" the left knocker suddenly yelled.

Dean smirked. Talking knockers. You had to love this world, when it wasn't trying to kill you. "Awesome."

"What?" the left knocker said harshly.

"Is no gd akng hm, hs df asa pst," the right interjected, the ring moving up and down as it spoke.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," the left replied, glaring over at the other knocker.

"I'm nt tlkg wth myh mth fll!"

Dean yanked the ring out of the knocker's mouth, and it smacked its lips, making almost orgasmic sounds that were more than a tad disturbing. "Oh, it's so good to get that thing out!"

Dean snorted. He so wasn't going there.

"I said, it's no good talking to him he's as deaf as a post," the ringless knocker repeated.

"Mumble, mumble, mumble. You're a wonderful conversational companion," the other knocker bitched.

"All you do is moan!"

"No good. Can't hear you." The deaf knocker looked away, a stubborn expression on its face as the other knocker rolled its eyes.

"So, what's behind doors number one and two?" Dean asked.

"What?" the deaf knocker said.

The ringless knocker wheezed a laugh. "Search me. We're just the knockers. Knock, and the door will open."

Dean shrugged and tried to stuff the ring back in the knocker's mouth. It pursed its lips together and made an emphatic noise.

"Doesn't want his ring back in his mouth, eh? Can't say I blame him."

When forcing the ring past its lips didn't work, Dean pinched the knocker's nostrils shut.

"Sorry," he said unapologetically as the being gasped for air with its lips closed, before opening its mouth in a large gasp for air. Dean immediately jammed the ring back in its mouth. There was some murmured mumbles that sounded rather like swearing, before it grumpily replied, "Thts ll rht, Im usd to it."

Dean solidly banged the metal ring against the wall, and the door opened. There was a roar behind it and a flash of reddish-orange light. A black scaly claw attached to a black, scaly hound from hell with orange eyes lashed out towards him, and he quickly slammed the door.

"Woah!" he exclaimed as the claw scrabbled around his side of the door, preventing it from being fully closed. He leant with his back against the door, applying his full weight, and bent down to grab his knife. There was an indignant cry from beside him as the clawed hand found the knocker's face and tried to remove it from the door. With a slash of his knife the hand disappeared back around the door, the creature howling in pain. Dean quickly pushed the door shut and rested against it for a minute. "Not door number two, then."

Satisfied that his heart rate had dropped to an acceptable level again, he pushed off the door and walked over to the other. He knocked hard on entrance number one, and it creaked open. There was no creature ready to attack him this time and what he could see appeared rather like a slightly dryer version of Dagobah. "There better be no frigging Yoda here," he murmured, walking slowly inside. It shut behind him and he automatically glanced back.

There was barely any sunlight; a mist and the gnarled trees that spread their sick-looking leaves over large areas of the sky blocked most of it out. He shivered slightly as he looked at a large cobweb, and blamed it on the lack of sun. His damp jeans and t-shirt were cold against his skin.

There was a path that led down through the trees, so he followed it. He could hear insects chirping all around, which was a comfort. When it got silent and still was usually when you really worried. The trunks of the trees were bloated and grotesque, the shining fungi growing on them adding to their menace.

"Menacing trees, that's a new one."

The noise of the insects suddenly stopped and he froze, raising the knife defensively to his waist. He slowly pivoted, looking for any movement, anything out of the ordinary, but there was nothing. The trees were still and there was nothing visible on the path or in the underbrush off it. The silence continued as he stood still for a few more seconds, waiting to see whether anything would happen. He eventually started picking his way forward on the path again, scanning the area as he walked, the knife at the ready. Something wasn't right; he could feel it in every inch of his body.

Dean clambered down a slope, dodging the roots that were as thick as tree trunks from one of the freaky-ass trees. There was a sudden clicking noise off to his left, like two wooden sticks had been hit against each other, and he stumbled. He turned in that direction, seeing nothing but swaying branches that shouldn't be swaying in the non-existent breeze. He started to move forward again, each footstep cautious, and then the clicking was repeated to the right, and in front and behind him. He turned and turned, but all he could see was moving foliage, nothing behind or in front of it.

"Son of a bitch," he murmured. Whatever they were, it sounded like they had him surrounded.

He slowly turned in place, feeling that an attack was imminent. A creature jumped out of nowhere in front of him, yelling at the top of its voice, its red eyes whirling with madness. He reacted immediately, thrusting his knife forward into its stomach, but it danced sideways out of harm's way, its claws out in front of it, taunting him. With its red fur, snout and long ears it looked like someone had crossed Elmo with the werewolf out of fairy tales, leaning more towards the scariness of the wolf rather than the psychotic little fuzzball with a blanket fetish. Elmo was on his hit list, just below the fabric softener bear. This would be a practice run for hunting the little bitch down.

He thrust forward again and it moved backwards, laughing. Something tapped him on the shoulder and he twisted around to find another right in his face, gibbering maniacally at him. There was fire dancing in its eyes and it held up a long claw, producing a ball of flames on the end of it.

"Oh, shit." He backed up and dodged to the side as it threw the fire at him. The fire skimmed his arm and he jerked away, feeling the heat of the burn. The pain took a few seconds to sink in. The only positive was that it wasn't his good arm. His back hit a warm body and he whirled around, his knife slicing at the creature's head height. The body and head hit the ground seconds apart and he backed away at the fury he saw in the other three creatures' eyes.

There was a clicking noise and the body on the ground started inching itself towards its head.

"Just what I needed, detachable heads," Dean yelled, as he turned and ran.

He ran as fast as he could, occasionally slowing slightly to check whether they were still following him. They loped along on all four paws, drool hanging from their jaws, never very far behind. He had a feeling they were herding him in a particular direction, and found his suspicions confirmed as he barely avoided hitting a stone wall. There were large boulders around, hemming him in on three sides. The creatures stopped in front of him and spread out to block any escape routes, growling deep in their throats.

Dean crouched slightly, ready to dodge at a moment's notice. If he had the time to climb one of the boulders, he might be able to get high enough to be able to scale the wall and get back in the main parts of the Labyrinth without getting fried. The fire in the creatures' eyes grew higher, and one rested back on its back legs and held one of its claws up. The puff of flame that balanced on the end of its finger was bigger than what had been thrown at him before. If that hit, it was going to hurt.

He watched the creature's body language, waiting for the tell that would telegraph where and when it would try to incinerate him. He was moving before the ball left its hand, running in the opposite direction and clambering up the rough rocks that surrounded him, skinning his hands in the process. One of the creatures jumped up and grabbed hold of his ankle, its long claws digging in painfully. He kicked back and it dropped off, taking more flesh that Dean kinda needed, with it. The ball of flame had exploded against one of the other rocks, blackening it considerably and making Dean very glad he hadn't been standing there.

He crawled forward on the rock shelf, put the knife back inside his boot, and started climbing the wall. It was difficult with a very painful arm, stinging palms and a throbbing ankle, but there were enough protrusions that it only took a minute to make it to the top. He looked back down; two of the creatures had already disappeared, leaving just one for him to give the finger to. Sighing in relief, he slid down the wall and sat. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and then looked up, feeling like he was being watched.

"Holy crap." He scrambled to his feet and pulled out the knife, holding it defensively in front of him. An oversized orang-utan with giant floppy ears and sharp, curved horns stood in front of him, crooning softly, its face mournful. It made no move towards him, just shifted slightly in position and sighed more. Dean narrowed his eyes, trying to remember the movie. "Cluedo?" he said cautiously.

"Luuddoo," the creature rumbled, moving a little closer to him.

"Ludo," Dean repeated, lowering his knife, but staying alert. "Ludo, did you know Sarah?"

Ludo's jaw drooped. "Saawahh fwieeend," he said sadly, turning around to lumber away and brushing Dean with his thick tail in the process. Dean stood for a few seconds before hurrying to stand in front of Ludo, stopping him in his tracks.

"Ludo, what happened to Sarah?" Dean asked. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Saawahh," Ludo moaned, tears rolling down his face.

"Oh, boy," Dean said, turning away and agitatedly rubbing the back of his head in thought. This really was not good. "Sarah never made it out of the Labyrinth, did she?" He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "Jim fucking Henson. God, none of it's true, all just…" He flapped his hands around wildly, words failing him. "She never saved her brother, she never got through in time. Damnit all to hell."

Dean turned back to face Ludo.

"Sawaahh," Ludo started again, his back partially turned to Dean as he hunched over in misery.

Dean ran his hand through his hair one more time, before moving over to Ludo and reaching up to gingerly pat his shoulder. "Uh, it's okay, big guy. Dean, that's me, Dean's your friend, too." He really hoped that the big hairy thing bought his friendship. Knowing Henson's track record so far, Ludo might have been what killed the girl.

Ludo looked up, his eyes hopeful. "Deeeann fwieennd?"

"Dean friend," Dean repeated. "I don't suppose you know how to get to the centre of the Labyrinth so that I can find my brother and kill Jareth, do you?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Didn't think so."

Ludo bared his teeth and Dean stepped back, raising the knife again. He was getting really sick of this place.

"Kiiiilll Jaweettthh." There was a growl to Ludo's voice that indicated that rending and tearing Jareth apart would likely be in his future. "Luudoo and Deeann fwieeends."

"Okaaay, then," Dean replied. "Guess he makes friends everywhere, huh? Real nice guy. Right. Let's go get the son of a bitch."

"Kiiiilll Jaweettthh," Ludo approved as he started lumbering forward.

"Amen to that," Dean agreed, limping along beside Ludo. And then, of course, the ground dropped out from under his feet again. He was starting to get really sick of that.

* * *

Sam looked into the mirror, eyes widening in horror. This could not be happening to him. It couldn't. Denial wasn't just a river in Egypt. Sam had had a lot of practice plumbing its foamy depth.

"Do you like it, Sam?" asked Jareth, voice dancing with delight. Sam's mouth opened and shut again with a snap as he went back to staring at his reflection.

Yeah, this so wasn't happening.

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

As falling down a hole went, this time wasn't too bad. 

It wasn't a straight vertical drop, instead it was a sloping and curving tunnel coated in dirt and decorated with spider webs, giving him the feeling that he was on a really bad water slide minus the water. And the additional plus was that he was falling _after_ Ludo instead of before, so he wouldn't get squished at the end and should actually have a fairly soft landing. So, on the whole, Dean was counting it as a win.

When the tunnel ended and he landed on his crash mat, he changed his mind.

He rolled off Ludo onto the ground and tried not to heave. He'd thought that Dad was bad, but he was _nothing_ compared to this.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh, baaaaad smeeeeelllllll," Ludo groaned, waving his hand in front of his face.

They were on the bank of what Dean could only assume was the Bog of Eternal Stench. The water was green with an oily scum on top; there were geysers of putrid smell spurting up with disgusting farting noises and smells to rival the time when Sam had eaten some bad chilli.

"Smeeeeeeellll," Ludo repeated, sounding more distressed than before.

Dean put his arm in front of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. Nope, pretending it didn't exist didn't make it any better. "_Holy shit_." Never had the words seemed more appropriate. He did have a high tolerance, he kind of had to, what with digging up decomposing bodies and killing things that sprayed gunk at you, but this went beyond anything he'd ever experienced before. It was about fifty billion times more gross than the grossest toilets he'd ever been in, and that was saying something. He heaved again. The soundtrack really wasn't helping matters. He was a fan of the fart joke, how could he not be, but this was going way too far.

He struggled to his feet and swayed slightly. They were on a thin strip of land that narrowed to a point, presumably where a bridge had spanned the bog to allow travellers to avoid getting their feet wet. There was no bridge there now, which could cause problems, but there was something seemingly standing guard at the point at which it would have been.

"Come on, Ludo," Dean choked out as he staggered towards the figure in the distance. Ludo repeated his new refrain as he followed behind and Dean tried not to breathe through his nose or hear the noises around him. As they got closer to the figure, he started to realise that it was a dog dressed up like one of the Three Musketeers, sitting on the top of a fluffy white sheep dog. The 'musketeer' dog had a rapier stretched out in front of it, as if in warning.

He started to wonder whether the dog was a statue, but when they were almost upon it and it hadn't moved, he realised that it was worse. The dogs were real, but frozen in place – possibly dead and stuffed.

"Broottther," Ludo moaned, sniffing slightly at the musketeer dog's head.

"You knew him, Ludo?" Dean absently asked as he walked over to the edge of the land. There were large rocks at stepping intervals across the bog in place of the bridge. Something about that niggled at his memory, but he couldn't place it, so he dismissed it with a shrug. The important thing was that they should be able to cross without stepping in the disgusting muck.

"Diddymus broottther."

Dean turned around and walked back to the dogs. He gave Ludo another gentle pat on the shoulder.

"I know the feeling."

Feeling slightly more sacrilegious than normal, Dean gently pulled the rapier out of the dog's tightly clenched hand/paw, while Ludo growled and glared at him.

"I like it just as much as you do," Dean said sternly, "but we need it." He raised his eyebrows. "To kill Jareth, remember?"

Ludo bared his teeth once and then looked down.

"Come on."

Dean stepped down carefully on the first rock to a chorus of multiple farting noises. It held steady, so he moved forward to the next rock. The farts were a different pitch.

"Great, musical farts," he muttered, twisting slightly to see whether Ludo was following him. He was cautiously reaching down to the first rock, a disgusted expression on his face. The next few rocks proved to be different notes again, but the last two were repeats of earlier. It almost sounded like _Smoke on the Water_. Dean stopped on the opposite bank and waited for Ludo, who used his tail to keep his balance.

The landscape quickly changed from swamp to forests, a dimly lit path winding through the trees. Stormy clouds had moved in, looking apocalyptic against the red sky. Dean's stomach grumbled loudly.

"Hunnngry," Ludo said, rubbing his own stomach.

"You and me, both," Dean agreed, longingly thinking of his burger back in the real world. It was starting to turn into the perfect burger in his mind; despite the fact that it had only been lukewarm by the time he'd gotten it back to their motel room and the bun was probably soggy. A root tripped him up and Ludo grabbed his arm before he could fall.

"Thanks," Dean said as he regained his balance. When Ludo let go, he resisted the urge to rub his arm. The walking carpet had a very strong grip.

The forest opened out into a large, sloping meadow, thick with the most bizarre flowers he'd ever seen. They looked like large, midnight black sunflowers with teeth.

"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas any more," he murmured.

Ludo sniffed the air, looked at the flowers and then looked at Dean. His expression was unsure, and that made Dean feel uneasy. Ludo knew this world and if he was worried there was a reason to be worried.

They walked forward into the meadow and the sunflowers hissed and gnashed their teeth as they passed. None were higher than groin level, but Dean made sure to give them his leg to hungrily look at rather than his groin. He wasn't taking any risks with Dean Junior. Dean Junior was needed. One particularly persistent sunflower grabbed hold of his jeans with its little teeth and wouldn't let go. It yelped when he used the rapier to cut it off at the stem and the others around it moved away from him, hissing louder in agitation or fear. Ludo simply growled at the flowers around him and they instantly gave him space to move.

When they were about half way through the meadow, the ground rumbled and shook beneath their feet. Dean stumbled, but kept his balance.

"What the hell was that?"

He turned around, searching for what had caused the earth tremor. Earthquakes seemed like too easy an answer – nothing had been that simple in this place. At least there wasn't any sand; giant sandworms would be just too much to deal with at this point. There was nothing that he could see.

"Goddamnit, show yourself, whatever you are."

The earth shook again.

"Please don't let it be a T-Rex," he pleaded half-seriously. The pig-sticker he'd borrowed from the dog wouldn't do much against a frigging dinosaur.

There was another shudder, harder and louder than the previous, and a scaly head popped up over the rise, followed by a gigantic body, wings and a forked tail.

"Okay." He tilted his head to the side. "Dragon really not much better." Thinking about it, it was essentially a dinosaur with wings, which, really, was a lot worse than an unwinged dinosaur. "Crap." The thing was sucking in air. "Down!" he yelled at Ludo, diving to the ground and flattening a few evil sunflowers in the process. Every sore muscle and scratch or cut on his body protested his treatment of it. There was a blast of hot air above him, thankfully high enough that it wouldn't singe his back. "Do I have an 'incinerate me, please' sign on my back, or something?" he grumbled.

There was a great sweep of wind that stank of sulphur as the shadow of the dragon passed overhead and drowned out what little sun there was. He stayed down, not wanting to give it another chance for a flame-throwing lesson. "Don't suppose the dragon is your friend, huh?" he shouted over to Ludo, who he was relieved to see was also flat on the ground.

Ludo shook his head. "Dwaagon noot fwwieeend."

"Well, this should be interesting then." Dean twisted around on the ground, trying to see what direction the dragon had gone. He couldn't see it anywhere; there was no speck in the sky that could be it and the surrounding sunflowers were too high to really allow him to check the ground. Of course, even then, if it found a slight hollow to land in he'd have trouble seeing it, what with the fact that it was black and green and was camouflaged nicely by the flowers. He'd have to look for the glowing red eyes.

Even if he spotted it, there was the little matter of what to do. There was nothing on killing dragons in their dad's journal – to him, they'd seemed to fall in the same category as unicorns and vampires. For a non-existent creature, this one definitely seemed very real, but then vampires were real and Dad never thought to include that bit of information either.

He didn't much like the odds of being able to outrun an animal with wings, so that wasn't really any option. Shooting it wouldn't work, unless it was allergic to fluffy pink balls, and the rapier or knife probably wouldn't make much of an indent unless he could find the right point – which would rely on luck rather than skill. It seemed like the best option, though, particularly if he could get Ludo to help distract it.

After checking whether he could see the dragon again, he crawled over to where Ludo was lying on the ground.

"You think you can distract the dragon so I can try to kill it?" Dean asked. Ludo nodded, so Dean handed him the unloaded, rather battered, shotgun. "Hit it with this. Just don't let it hurt you."

Dean scrambled to his feet, Ludo following, and searched all around for the dragon. He finally spotted a red pair of eyes above some of the evil sunflowers, who were weaving to and fro in agitation. Sensing that the gig was up, the dragon rose up from its crouch and started stomping forward, producing the mini-earthquakes that Dean had felt earlier. Its wings were slightly extended, helping it keep its balance and making it look like some sort of giant, flame-producing, awkward, baby bird. One wing was shorter than the other, like someone had cut it off at the joint, which probably explained why it hadn't taken to the air again. It wouldn't get much height or have much manoeuvrability with such uneven wings and it probably required a lot of effort to stay in the air.

As it got closer, Dean bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. When he deemed it close enough, he dodged to the side and ran forward to its flank. It slowed a little, seemingly in confusion, allowing Dean to grab on to its tail and climb high enough that the swishing back and forth wasn't a problem. There were large ridged Mohawk-like plates going all the way from its tail up to its head, providing convenient hand holds for his ascent. When he'd reached the bottom of its long neck, it let out an annoyed shriek and stepped sideways, throwing its head around wildly. He grabbed on tight with both hands, trying to stop himself from being thrown. He didn't particularly want to end up with a broken neck after all he'd been through today.

There was a roar that sounded like it had come from Ludo and the dragon shook its head once again.

"Looks like Ludo's doing his job a little too well," Dean gasped, clinging to its neck. The way it was going, he wouldn't be able to get any higher, but its hide felt thick enough that he wouldn't be able to do much damage to its neck where he was. "Oh, boy," he murmured, before starting a slow shimmy towards its head, keeping a tight grip with either his legs or his hands at all times.

When he finally reached its head, he saw the cause of its agitation. Ludo had somehow attached himself to its snout, one hand holding on tight by a grip in its nostril and the other bashing its nose with the shotgun. Dean almost laughed; the expression on the thing's face was so comically shocked and uncertain of how to get rid of its irritating passenger. The dragon's eyes narrowed, and Dean both felt and heard a rumbling.

"Oh, crap." Dean quickly pulled the knife out of his boot and plunged it in the dragon's forehead, hoping to distract it from its idea. He really didn't want Ludo to turn into a crispy critter. It roared in pain, loosening Ludo's grip and forcing him to shove the shotgun up its other nostril as he grabbed hold with his other hand. The rumbling had increased in volume to such an extent that it seemed like an eruption was imminent. "Ludo, drop!" Dean shouted. Ludo did, seeming to push the shotgun further into the dragon's nostril, causing it to draw in a breath, where it normally would have let out a firey one. The two lots of air met and there was a moment of silence in which Dean jumped for his life. As he rolled to a rather painful stop on the ground, there was a boom behind him, the smell of burnt meat and a spray of something disgustingly wet.

He looked back to see a half burnt out carcass where the dragon had been. A snort escaped him at the absurdity of it all. Ludo had just defeated a dragon by shoving a shotgun up its nose. It was completely insane. Quickly gaining control of himself, he wiped the bloody knife off on his jeans and shoved it back into his boot before looking around for Ludo. The fuzzball was sitting on the ground, about twenty feet away from the dragon, with a shocked expression on his face.

Dean stood up, limping more on his clawed up and now quite possibly sprained ankle, and searched around the headless dragon for the rapier he'd dropped. With an 'ah' he picked up the gore covered weapon – the dragon sure had sprayed everywhere when it went kablooey – and made his way over to Ludo.

"You okay?" Dean asked the still dazed looking creature, resting his hand on Ludo's shoulder.

Ludo looked up at Dean. "Dwaagon deeaad," he said mournfully.

Dean grimaced slightly. As much as Ludo had been ready to kill Jareth, the reality of actually killing something for the first time was always more devastating then what you'd ever thought it would be. He patted Ludo's shoulder, not really knowing what to say. "You did good, Ludo." The 'we would be dead without you' went unspoken.

Ludo moaned once more before clambering to his feet and almost falling again.

"Careful, big guy," Dean said, moving in to stop him from face planting and then staggering himself under Ludo's weight and groaning at the pain in his own ankle. After a minute, Ludo straightened himself and stood steadily. "Okay?" Dean asked.

"Okaay," Ludo agreed.

They set off at a brisk walk through the meadow, circling wide around the dead dragon and avoiding the sunflowers that hissed the most. They didn't seem too appreciative of the death of all their friends under the dragon's carcass. It didn't take them long to reach the rise where they had first seen the dragon and Dean almost whooped with joy when he looked down. The ground sloped away to reveal the walls of the goblin city. They were almost there.

As much as Dean wanted to run, they kept to a slow jog as they approached the city. His body had taken enough battering and even moving as slowly as they were hurt his ankle, sent fire through his arm and made his head throb. He'd just about kill for a hot shower, some food and painkillers.

There was a gate into the city right in front of them, guarded by a sleeping figure in armour. Dean put his finger in front of his lips, gesturing for quiet, and circled to the side away from the guard. The wall wasn't very high, so it would be easier to take a more circumspect route into the city then through a gate. He didn't want to telegraph his arrival to Jareth this early. When Dean was happy that they were far enough away from the guard not to be heard, he stopped.

"Think you can climb-"

Ludo started scaling the wall before Dean finished his sentence, in no time reaching the top.

"Right," Dean said. "What was I thinking? Of course you can."

Ludo turned around, braced himself on the wall, and extended one long arm down to Dean. Dean jumped, grabbed some decent handholds and pulled himself up enough that he could grab Ludo's hand. From there, it only took seconds to climb to the top. By avoiding the gate, they didn't have to go through or over two walls, thereby reducing their chance of detection. Dean really didn't want to have made it through every other obstacle in the Labyrinth only to get caught out at the last minute. He didn't save Sam at such a high price, didn't make a deal with a bitch from hell, only to let Sam be turned into a plaything for an 80s has-been.

Within minutes, they were both prowling down a street of the goblin city. It was quiet and deserted, awash with rubbish and debris. The goblins certainly weren't in to beautifying their city; that was for sure. It was actually worse than any dump that Dean could remember staying in, and even some literal dumps he'd had to dive in. Considering the Goblin King's style of dress, you'd think that he wouldn't allow his city to get into such a state. The man obviously had no pride.

The street plan was haphazard, so it took a while to get to the castle in the centre of the city, if you could call a building in as bad a condition as the rest of the city a castle. They hadn't been discovered; the occasional group of goblins that they had avoided hadn't been moving with any sense of purpose or urgency. It had almost been too easy to avoid being seen.

Two giant metal doors, chained to the walls beside them, blocked the entrance to the castle. Dean leant against one of them, but it didn't budge. Ludo pushed hard on both doors and they fell open, revealing a narrow, arched hallway and more candles than even a goth chick could possibly want.

A shout came from behind them, and Dean whirled around to see a large group of goblins.

"Oh, crap." The goblins had spears and axes in comparison to Dean's measly knife and rapier. "Ludo," he started, but didn't have to finish the sentence. Ludo had let out a roar and dove forward into the group of goblins. As Dean watched he picked one goblin up and tossed it against the side of the palace.

Dean stood indecisively for a second, not wanting to leave Ludo behind to deal with the goblins by himself, before turning back and going through the doors. They shut with a clang behind him, blocking out the sounds of the melee outside. He took a deep breath, his entire body thrumming with anticipation, and looked down the long hallway. Jareth wasn't standing in its seemingly endless depths as Dean had almost expected after all the melodrama. There were two other passages leading off the foyer to his left and right. Sam could be at the end of the long hall or either of the passages; there was no helpful sign that said 'Jareth and Sam this way'. He probably wouldn't trust it if there was.

But, then, there was something better than a sign; he heard voices – one of them sounding like Sam's – coming from the passageway to his right. He glanced around, making sure there was nobody sneaking up on him, before walking down the short passage, the rapier at the ready. He reached a flight of stairs and climbed them cautiously. The corridor turned at the top step, blocking his view of any dangers. He paused and slowed his breathing down, listening for anything that suggested that someone or something was around the corner. There was nothing, other than the voices, which seemed closer. He could definitely make out both Sam and Jareth's voices, but not their words. Sam was still alive. He shoved his relief at that revelation aside and poked his head around the corner. There was a doorway a few feet along the corridor, bright, flickering light shining out of it.

Dean slid along the wall, each footfall cautious, until he was beside the doorway. He stared at the wall opposite, centring himself, before smoothly turning and entering the room, rapier at the ready.

"Hello, Dean," Jareth crooned, smiling smugly at him.

Dean stood still in shock, not wanting to believe what he was seeing.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head. Not after everything he'd done, everything he'd gone through. Not with all that he'd sacrificed; this couldn't be happening. It couldn't. It wasn't _fair_. For years he'd never even been able to think the words, let alone say them. Not until… They had echoed around his mind, then, getting louder and louder with each pass, ricocheting off 'failure', until he'd reversed it all, erased the words from his mind. He hadn't thought of them once since then, not until now. This was so goddamn _unfair_.

Jareth stood in the middle of the room, feet planted wide apart, eyes laughing at Dean. Sam stood at Jareth's shoulder, a smile on his face. There was a goblin in the corner, but Dean dismissed it as unimportant. Sam was all that was important.

Sam was dressed in tight leather pants, a frilled white shirt that accentuated every muscle that he had and knee-high girly boots. His hair had been fluffed and teased and his eyes made up with the gold, silver and black that Jareth so seemed to love, making his face seem more angular. Any other time Dean would have been on the floor laughing hysterically at his brother or calling for the brain bleach – the leather pants really left _nothing_ to the imagination – but all he could do was deny what he was seeing. He still had time; there were still seven minutes left on the clock behind them, but Jareth had already claimed Sam.

"You son of a bitch," he ground out, longing to punch out Jareth's grinning face.

"Now, now, Dean," Jareth tutted, "is that any way to talk to your king and prince?"

"Let him go."

Sam stepped forward and Jareth ran a possessive hand up and down his arm. "I rather like him," he said quietly as Dean seethed. "I'm not quite ready to give him up, or you, for that matter." He returned his gaze to Dean, looking him up and down with an intensity that made Dean very uncomfortable. Jareth stepped away from Sam, walking back towards his throne. "You see, your brother made a deal. He gives himself to me, I let you live and that year never rolls around."

Dean stared at Sam, not willing to believe it. He wouldn't do something so stupid.

"He _saved_-" Jareth savoured the word, "-your pathetic little life."

"Sam wouldn't do that," Dean denied, trying to see a hint of duplicity in Sam's face, a reason for this to be a charade.

Sam finally spoke. "What, you're the only one who gets to sacrifice himself in this family? I did this for you, Dean." Sam shook his head, his voice firm. "I'm not going to lose you."

"And this is your great and masterful plan?" Dean burst out, waving his left hand around. "This? Becoming one of the bad guys, throwing away everything that we've fought for? I can't believe it. I… This isn't you, Sam."

"I'm just doing what you would have done if it had been the other way around."

If it had been the other way around, if he'd had to compromise who he and Sam were to save Sam, would he have done it? He didn't even have to think. "No," he said sadly. "No, I wouldn't have."

"What a touching reunion," Jareth said dryly. "I-" He stopped speaking, turning slightly towards his throne as if puzzled by something that Dean couldn't see. Then something moved behind Jareth and there was a thick chain wrapped around the man's neck, pulling him backwards. Sam flickered out of existence and reappeared behind Jareth, attached to the hands holding the chain in place, leaving Dean trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Dean!" Sam bellowed.

He reacted automatically, rushing towards the struggling Goblin King and stabbing the rapier through his heart. He grunted in satisfaction at the shocked look in Jareth's eyes and the blood running down his chin. Jareth's limbs jerked to a stop and Sam let him slide out of his arms and onto the floor. A kick to the ribs proved that he really was dead and was rather cathartic for Dean.

"Dean," Sam repeated, his voice filled with wonder this time, gesturing to something behind him.

Dean turned and saw that where the goblin had been before, there was now a small blonde haired boy, crawling around on the dirty floor. They heard running footsteps in the corridor and Dean raised the rapier defensively. A teenage girl appeared in the doorway and frantically shouted, "Toby," before running over to pick up the child. The instant that he was in her arms they both faded from sight.

"Was that Sarah?" Sam asked shakily.

"I guess it was," Dean replied, wonder filling his voice. He hoped that they'd go back to their own time and that Sarah would be able to put this place behind her. She didn't deserve to be haunted by everything she had seen, and what Jareth had done, for the rest of her life.

"Jareth said that she didn't make it through in time, but I didn't really believe him, thought he was just trying to psych me out, you know? She's probably been searching for her brother all this time." Sam smiled slightly. "And we freed her."

Sam sat back down on the raised floor beside the throne, letting the chain, which Dean now saw was attached to it, slacken and fall down. Dean coughed slightly and looked away. The real Sam was dressed exactly the same as the illusion had been and sitting enlarged all sorts of things that required more brain bleach.

"Jesus, Sam," he said, still fervently not looking at his brother. "Can't you do something about that?" He waved in the direction of Sam's lap, glanced at Sam and then had to look away again. There was a rustling of fabric and when he looked back, Sam had somehow arranged the sleeves on the shirt to hide the offending body part.

"This isn't what it looks like," Sam snapped, a bitch-face in full force, playing havoc with his make up.

"What, you're not Jareth's bitch?" Dean snorted, tried in vain to control himself, and snorted again, before just letting the laughter out.

"Very funny, Dean," Sam replied in a tone that implied it was not funny at all. When Dean had tapered off to sniggering, he added, "Anyway, you're the one who Jareth's been mooning over, not me. He practically drooled when your shirt shrunk."

"Well, what can I say?" Dean said cockily. "He had to have some taste, I'll give him that." He grinned widely at Sam, enjoying the annoyed huff that Sam let out, before letting his gaze wander around the room. It matched everything else that he'd seen: dirty and neglected. "I'd have thought that we'd be back in the motel by now."

"Maybe we would be if you'd unchain me." Sam arched an eyebrow and held his hands up slightly. "My paperclip is in my other pants." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and Dean returned it. Half a minute later, Sam was free and rubbing his wrists. Two seconds after that, they were sitting on the bed in the motel, Cary Grant tied to a chair on the flickering TV screen. Dean looked across at Sam, who was still dressed as a Jareth groupie, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. A moment later he had a lasting memory of the whole experience and blackmail material for the rest of Sam's life.

"Hey!" Sam yelled indignantly, grabbing for the phone. Dean quickly moved it out of his reach, putting it back in his pocket where Sam wouldn't dare to try and get it.

"Dean, give it."

Dean shook his head. "I fought the Blinding Eye for you. This is my payment."

"Fine." The word was grudgingly given with a put upon sigh. Dean had no doubt that Sam would do whatever it took to delete the photo off the phone, so the minute that he could, he was going to email the photo to himself. The phone wouldn't leave his sight until he had done so.

He shifted slightly on the bed, groaning as his ankle protested the movement. Sam's eyebrows did the whole worried thing, as Dean spotted something very important.

"You better let me have a look at you."

"In a minute," Dean replied, honing in on his target. He took a large bite of his now definitely cold burger and sighed ecstatically. "Ths 's hefen." Another bite quickly followed, before he had completely swallowed the first one, and Sam stared at him in that 'my brother is a pig' way that Sam did so well. "Wha?"

A shake of Sam's head was his only reply. Sam got off the bed, walking rather stiffly, and pulled a pair of jeans and a t-shirt out of his bag. Dean sniggered around his burger as Sam nearly fell over pulling the knee-high boots off and then walked into the bathroom, closing the door with a resounding thump. A high-pitched yelp, the sound of breaking glass and a thud a moment later had him spraying his burger everywhere.

"Not funny, Dean!" came the yell from the bathroom.

Yeah, Dean wouldn't wish his brother away for anything. It was too much effort getting him back.

THE END


End file.
